


Where Honour calls you, go you must

by silvermoongirl10



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: AU version of the Savoy massacre, Alternate Universe - World War I, Aramis being a medic to Porthos when he's not really a medic, Aramis gets a medal for his bravery but doesn't want it, Aramis is haunted by the massacre, Aramis is overwhelmed, Aramis is really good at drawing, Aramis risks his life to save others, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Porthos hates himself for letting Aramis suffer at night with memories of the massacre, Porthos hates that Aramis risks his life, Porthos worrying over Aramis, The War Has Ended, The boys just want to go home, World War One, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvermoongirl10/pseuds/silvermoongirl10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU WWI verse, Porthos takes the opportunity the war brings to explore what lies beyond the village where he and Aramis grew up. Aramis wants nothing more than to stay on his family's farm in peace. But at age 18 they must face the perils of war and try to survive the years they spend in the trenches. (The title is taken from Owen Seamen's poem Pro Patria).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How did we end up here?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not completely sure whether I should post this, but a friend convinced me too. I guess this idea came from having a few lectures on World War One and getting hooked on BBC's new World War One drama The Crimson Field. Being a first year History undergraduate I have tried to be historically accurate as possible, but I'm not an expert on this subject so I have tried the best I can. I have based this story from a British perspective as I don't have any information for other countries during the war; I hope this doesn't bother anyone. The regiment I have put them in was a real British Regiment until 1994 when it amalgamated with another regiment, this new regiment again amalgamated with two more regiments in 2005. So if you are interested in finding out more just message me and I can try to tell you what you want to know or I can try to point you in the right direction.

**September 1915**

Aramis was sat on the edge of his dugout just staring at the walls of mud; he was taking deep breaths trying to prepare himself mentally for what was going to happen early the next morning. Tomorrow he and the others in his Battalion would be going over the top, and taking part in what was being called the Battle of Loos. He chuckled without any real humour thinking about what he was like just three months ago. He still remembered the shock he felt when he looked up the series of trenches for the first time. Men he had known back home who had left just six months before him looked drained and the boys the same age as himself looked far older than the tender age of 18. A few of his fellow soldiers he knew were underage but had managed to lie their way into the army to fight for King and Country, the youngest was Jimmy Marshall who was just 16.

He turned his head when he heard footsteps stopping beside him. Looking up he blinked against the sunlight to find he was looking up at his best friend, and more or less his brother, Porthos. Wordlessly he shifted to allow Porthos to squeeze himself into the dugout.

"You holding up alright?" questioned Porthos as he settled his back up against the opposite wall from Aramis.

Aramis shrugged, "Better than those just a bit further up the line"

Porthos nodded his head solemnly in agreement. As a tactic to try and cripple the German defences the British had used the poisonous gas Chlorine for the first time with limited success, the wind had blown some of the gas back towards the British line. This coupled with the inefficiency of their gas masks had led to many of their fellow Tommy's being affected by their own gas.

Porthos cleared his throat gaining Aramis' attention, "Well it could be worse" Aramis raised his eyebrows in disbelief, "We could be engineers who are having to tunnel underground laying mines"

Aramis shuddered, yes that would be worse. He had grown up on a farm used to the wide open spaces and found the trench and its dugouts confining, if he had to go underground he knew he wouldn't be able to function. He shared a small smile with Porthos and looked up at the sky and thought back to how peaceful his life had been before the war had got in the way.

* * *

**July 1914**

Aramis and Porthos came from the village Kemble in Gloucestershire, both their father's families had originally came from France, but they were both fourth generation English. Aramis' family owned a farm they had worked hard to pay for, most families rented farms but the rich landowners were a kind family and over the generations the de la Fère's had allowed the d'Herblay's to eventually buy the farm. The d'Herblay family's farm was the closest to the de la Fère family home. Porthos' father worked as a farm hand and had been invited to live in the quite spacious farmhouse. Porthos was a month older than Aramis and had taken to looking after the boy he considered his little brother. Sadly, Porthos' mother had died when he was five so Aramis' mother had taken to looking after the boy when the men went out to work the fields.

Living so close to the grand house where the de la Fère family lived meant Aramis and Porthos had come into contact with Athos and his younger brother Thomas. While most rich families would have forbidden their children to socialize with working class children, Athos' father believed that his sons should get to know the people who lived on their land. So the four young boys had struck up a sort of friendship despite the range in ages.

The once peaceful air of Kemble had slowly begun to disappear after the assassination of Franz Ferdinand at the end of June, the old men of the village wished they were younger so they could join the army to go and fight for their King and Country. This attitude was shared by a lot of the young men, Porthos included only because he wanted to see other places. But Aramis just wished for a peaceful life on the farm that he lived on.

On a warm Sunday afternoon the four of them were sat up on top of a hill contentedly watching the clouds and birds.

Thomas looked at the three older boys and asked, "Do you really think there is going to be a war?"

Athos looked at the boys who were sat around him and then answered his brother, "It looks like there will be one, whether Britain will join it is yet to be seen. But if we do go to war I know that I'll be joining the army"

Thomas looked over at Aramis and Porthos, "Will you go?"

"Only when we're 18" responded Aramis, "My mother has made us promise to only join the army once we're 18"

Thomas nodded, "Mother has forbidden me from even thinking about joining the army until I am 18"

"That is because you are only 16" chuckled Athos shaking his head,

Porthos smiled and leaning over he ruffled Thomas' hair, Thomas responded by launching himself at Porthos pushing the older boy to the floor.

Aramis shook his head and then turned to Athos, "How does Anne feel about you joining up?"

Athos shrugged, "She says I'm very brave and that she promises to wait for me, and marry me once the war, if it is coming, is over"

Aramis nodded and sighing simultaneously he and Athos reached over and broke up the tickle fight between Porthos and Thomas. Once peace had been restored Aramis leaned back with his hands behind his head and watched the soaring sparrows. Deep down he knew trouble was brewing and just prayed it would be over before the young lads like Thomas had to go.

* * *

**August 1914**

It had come. The streets in every village, town and city on the 4th had been filled with people shouting out that Britain was at war. Athos had gone to join the Gloucestershire regiment and would be a Lieutenant leading a platoon of men at the young age of 20. The de la Fère family with Aramis and Porthos had gone to the train station to say goodbye to Athos two weeks after the outbreak of the war.

Porthos clapped Athos on the shoulder, "Take care of yourself"

Athos nodded, "I will. I just hope that they are right in that this will all be over by Christmas so you both don't have to come with me"

Aramis smiled, "Let's hope so". However, his smile vanished once Athos was on the train, he watched with growing sadness as the train pulled away in a cloud of steam. He and Porthos turned away and left allowing Athos' family some time alone.

Aramis walked through the village in silence, in the past couple of weeks those who had not yet joined the army were being pressured to do so. Some of his former classmates who had initially been hesitant soon joined up to avoid being called cowards. Fortunately for Aramis and Porthos, the village seemed to understand that the two lads were needed on the farm.

Porthos seemed to sense that there was something bothering him, "What is wrong Aramis?"

Aramis sighed, "When you become 18 in early January. You…er…you won't join up without me will you?" This had been something that had been worrying him; he wouldn't be 18 until the end of February meaning Porthos would have to wait almost two months to join up. Something he was determined to do so.

Porthos stopped and reached out an arm stopping Aramis, "Listen here. I will _not_ go without you alright? I _promise._ Something as big as going to war, I will not leave before you and then leave you to join up on your own" Porthos knew that Aramis' greatest fear was being left alone and hated that Aramis, his best friend and brother, thought that he would leave him to cope with joining the army and going to war alone.

Aramis sighed in relief and relaxed, he smiled at Porthos before they continued walking through the village. Once they reached the farmhouse Aramis found his mother cooking dinner, she turned around and seeing the boys she gave them a sad smile.

"Did Athos leave alright?" Sophie asked,

"Yeah, he seemed pretty excited to be leaving home for the first time" answered Porthos as he lowered himself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Aramis instead walked over to stand beside his mother and squeezed her hand; she turned and hugged him fiercely.

"I'm praying so hard that you will not have to go and fight. I cannot lose my boys" Sophie stifled her sobs by pressing her face into Aramis' shoulder. Aramis tightened his arms around his mother engulfing her in a hug. At one time Aramis had had siblings, an older sister and an older brother, but both had died of illnesses both before reaching the age of ten. And he knew his mother feared losing her last child and Porthos the boy who had become like another son to her.

"I hope so to Mama, I hope so to" murmured Aramis; he was terrified at the thought of having to kill another human being. He didn't think he'd be able to do it and he feared what he might become if he survived, his father had gone to fight in the Second Boar War when he was two years old and returning when he was four. His mother told him that sometimes his father was distracted because he was trapped in the memories from the war he took part in and Aramis feared what might happen to him after he was haunted by a war.

Aramis looked over at Porthos; he could see his best friend was torn. On the one hand Porthos wanted to go and fight, to take a chance to see what lay beyond Kemble village. But on the other hand Porthos did not want to worry the woman who had essentially been his mother since the age of five.

Aramis stooped a little and buried his face into his mother's shoulder, while Porthos strived to explore, Aramis was content to stay on his family's farm. He hoped and prayed that he wouldn't have to go to war, but something told him that his prayers would not be answered.

Aramis was right, on the 1st of March 1915 Aramis and Porthos enlisted in the Gloucestershire Regiment and went to war.

* * *

**September 1915**

"Aramis. Aramis!"

"Huh?" he shook his head and sat up looking across at Porthos who was leaning forward and looking at him worriedly.

"Are you alright? You looked as if you weren't having a pleasant dream"

Aramis smiled at his friend and nodded as he rubbed his eyes not knowing he had fallen asleep. He realized in the eight months that he was in the army that he had changed and from his letters home his mother had realized this to. And Aramis was terrified that he was turning into someone his mother would hate, one good thing that came from being in the army was that he had been able to perfect his already good aim with a gun. Hunting rabbits back home had enabled him to have a good aim with a shotgun, but with an army rifle, Aramis had become unbeatable he had shocked the Sergeant in charge of training them.

Without speaking he and Porthos got to their feet and went out to stand on the trench board and looked out at No Man's Land.

"Be careful, I don't need you two getting shot before we've even gone over the top" said a stern voice from behind them.

Porthos smiled and turned, "We're being careful Sir"

Athos merely raised an eyebrow, "If I recall, your 'being careful' led to many injuries from falling out of trees Porthos"

Aramis snorted, it was his and Porthos' good fortune that when they came to France they were put in Athos' platoon, although Athos may have been one to disagree. The three of them stood together for fifteen minutes when everyone then lined up, ready to climb up the ladders to march to the German line.

Athos stood beside them, "Good luck gentlemen and I hope to see you on the other side"

"You to" answered Porthos, Aramis nodded at Athos and readied himself because he was to be one of the first up the ladder.

Athos nodded at them one more time before he placed his whistle between his lips and hearing the whistle before his, he blew his own and Aramis shuffled towards the ladder and quickly began to climb it with Porthos directly behind him.

The rattle of machine gun fire erupted all around him as he stumbled through the mud into the unknown.


	2. Where is the honour in this?

**October 1915**

Aramis was sat huddled his dugout to escape the rain, and was clutching a letter from his mother desperately. He was soaking up the news of the everyday running of the farm; he missed the simplicity of the farm and longed to be standing beside his father watching the animals. His mother had asked after him and Aramis had already decided to avoid answering in his next letter, he had changed after his first time going over the top and he did not want to concern his mother with what was happening to him. Aramis had been helpless to watch as his friends had fallen all around him and he could do nothing except keep walking forwards, he had become angry when they had ended up retreating back to their starting positions believing that his friends had died for nothing.

He smiled softly when his mother mentioned Isabelle and Anne, two girls who had been in school with him and Porthos, his mother mentioned how they were enjoying being able to work in a Munitions factory reveling in the fact that they were being allowed to do a 'man's job'. Porthos often teased him about the girls, Isabelle made no secret that she liked Aramis more than a friend she had even kissed him before he got on the train leaving Kemble. Aramis had thought he saw sadness etched on Anne's face seeing Isabelle kiss him, although the look was soon gone and Aramis passed it off as wishful thinking. For while Isabelle was a dear friend to him, Anne was the one person he could only imagine living the rest of his life with.

He was drawn out of his thoughts when some rations were thrust into his face; he tucked his letter into his pocket and thankfully took the food from Porthos' outstretched hand.

Porthos sat across from him and sent him a glare, "You really need to stop forgetting to line up and collect your food. You're lucky the cook knows I'm not getting seconds and knows I'm just making sure you eat"

Aramis shrugged and swallowed before answering, "I was reading a letter Mama sent me"

Porthos rolled his eyes, "Your Mama will be horrified to learn that you would rather read her letter than get something to eat"

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her" Aramis responded dismissively.

Porthos growled and pointed a finger at him, "If it happens again I'm writing to your Mama and telling her you're forgetting to eat. Let's see how dismissive you will be then"

"You wouldn't" stated Aramis frowning,

"Try me" goaded Porthos, he grew serious and added, "You can't go hungry Aramis that will only lead to trouble"

Aramis rolled his eyes but nodded anyway and continued to eat. He promised himself that he would try to remember to line up, he was easily distracted but he did not want his mother to worry about him not eating. Should Porthos ever write telling her of Aramis going hungry he knew that although he would not be standing in front of his mother, he knew he would still feel her anger directed at him through her words. Sophie d'Herblay was someone you did not want to anger.

Porthos sighed and looked out of the dugout at the muddy trench, "I hate all this waiting, especially after the German's attack a couple of weeks ago. It's too quiet and nothing to do but wait"

"Yes waiting is terrible, but it is better than traipsing through No Man's Land getting shelled and shot at. Getting wounded and having to lie in the mud for a long time before anyone comes to help you, all because everyone else has been ordered to keep moving forward" responded Aramis bitterly.

"Careful what you say Aramis" warned Porthos as he gave Aramis a worried look, "you could get in trouble for saying that"

"It is the truth" pointed out Aramis, he thought back on Jimmy Marshall who he had taken under his wing. The 16 year old had been awed by Aramis' shooting skills and had stuck close to the older boy, Aramis shuddered remembering seeing the exact moment that Jimmy had been struck in the shoulder and leg, Aramis had wanted to help but had been pushed forwards. He had volunteered to go out after the attack to search for survivors, he had found the younger boy and discovered Jimmy had died from his injuries.

Porthos leaned over and squeezed Aramis' shoulder knowing what his brother was thinking, "Jimmy died honourably for his King and Country-"

"Honourably?!" exclaimed Aramis shaking Porthos' hand off his shoulder, "What _honour_? We live worse than the animals back at the farm! We get shot at; shelled at and subjected to gas that kills us! And spend hours caked in mud! Tell me Porthos what is honourably about that?!"

Porthos opened his mouth to reply when a voice from the trench gained their attention, "Careful Aramis you are lucky that it was only I that heard you"

Aramis turned so he was looking up at Athos' disapproving look, "Sorry Sir" muttered Aramis.

Athos sighed, "I am sorry about your friend, but there is no use spouting out words, _loudly_ I add, that can lead to trouble"

"He was a _boy_ Athos, barely 16. He had no reason to be here and he died alone surrounded by mud" responded Aramis,

Athos looked down at Aramis with sorrow filled eyes, "You are a boy as well Aramis. To me you are what Jimmy was to you"

"The difference is _I_ am old enough to join the Army where he was not" snapped Aramis. He knew he shouldn't be saying what he was, but he couldn't help it. He didn't know how else to deal with what he was going through. He couldn't write to his mother, Isabelle or Anne for the fear of worrying them, he couldn't write to his father about it because he knew he would never get a reply because his father hated the subject of war, his father didn't even write to him, his mother said it was the war that was affecting him and his fear for his son, and he could understand that. His only option other than bottling it up was talking to Porthos where he ran the risk of an Officer hearing him.

Athos sighed and nodded at them before he continued on his walk to the Officer's dugout.

"Aramis stop with this talk!" ordered Porthos as he worriedly looked around for anyone else who might hear Aramis.

Aramis shook his head and snapped, "I've got sentry duty all night, see you in the morning" and then he swiftly stood up, he grabbed his rifle and stalked out of the dugout and through the trench slinging his rifle onto his shoulder. All the while clutching his shaking hands into fists to stop them trembling from anger.

As night fell Aramis sighed deeply and felt peace sweep over him calming his thoughts. Distantly he heard the rumble of shells and shuddered feeling sorry for the men who were on the receiving end. The cold bit sharply at his limbs and he tightened his coat around him and pressed his hands under his armpits to try and keep them warm, he wriggled his toes to starve off the numbness and looked out across at the stretch of mud separating him from the German line. He could just about make out the outline of the destroyed and frayed trees and the craters of mud created by the shells. In the daylight the sight was terrifying and in the moonlight it was just as bad, the soft glow of the moon used to comfort him as a child and now his living nightmare was tainting all the things that helped keep him calm. The barbed wire glinted in the moonlight serving as a reminder that he wasn't on his farm looking at an aftermath of a storm, he was stood in the middle of a war that had already claimed many lives.

Soon dawn came and he watched as the pink-red light stretched out across the land, he tried not to think that it looked as if the sun itself was wounded and bleeding out over the sky. The next sentry arrived and he slowly made his way back to his dug out, the cook passed him and handed him his morning's rations. He nibbled slowly at the food on his way back to the dugout for once his bitter thoughts leaving him alone in the daylight. He entered the dugout and propped his rifle against the mud wall, he heard someone shifting and turned, his gaze met Porthos' and he gave his friend a small smile. His smiled was returned and he all had been forgiven.

"Nice to see you've got something to eat. Looks like there is hope for you after all" smiled Porthos.

Aramis rolled his eyes, "Cook passed me and all but thrust the rations into my hand"

"See, it isn't only me that notices you forget to feed yourself" chuckled Porthos,

Aramis' retort was cut off by a yawn; he finished his rations and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He shuffled over to where his blanket was spread out beside Porthos', they were lucky usually there were at least four men to a dugout. Aramis pushed aside the reminder of Jimmy, the young boy had shared the dugout with himself and Porthos and the empty space was a reminder of the young boy's death that came all too soon. He knew while Porthos was sad about Jimmy's death, Porthos did like the extra room as both himself and Porthos were quite tall. They were both taking the opportunity to stretch their legs until Captain Treville assigned some other men to their dugout.

Aramis slumped down and while lying down he battled with his blanket to untangle it and remove parts of it from underneath him; chuckling Porthos reached over and straightened it out for him and laying the blanket over him, before he covered Aramis with his own blanket.

"I'm not using it right now, so you might as well" commented Porthos seeing Aramis' confused look,

Aramis smiled in thanks and closed his eyes. Just before he fell asleep he heard Porthos add as he tucked the blankets around Aramis' shoulders, "Just don't get used to having two blankets". Aramis smiled and drifted off to sleep, dreaming about the farm, his family and Anne. For once his dreams were not plagued by haunting memories; instead they were filled with the images his mother's letter conjured of a peaceful village in the Gloucestershire countryside that he called home.


	3. No calm before the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set during The Battle of Albert, 1-13 July 1916 (The first offensive of the 1916 Battle of the Somme). So in advance this is kind of a depressing chapter, well more so than the first two. This chapter also has an AU version of the Savoy massacre.

**30** **th** **June 1916**

Aramis stood out on the trench board watching the German lines in front of him, artillery shells were fired above him and he had been at the Front long enough not to flinch. While the Germans were the army they were fighting, he could not help but feel sorry for the men who were on the receiving end. He had been in that position in the past and it had been an experience he would prefer never to relive. Athos walked past him along the trench, he was more tense than usual. Aramis knew this was because Thomas, Athos' younger brother, had reached the age of 18 and was now serving as a Lieutenant in the 8th (Service) Battalion Gloucestershire Regiment which was a part of the 57th Brigade in the 19th (Western) Division. A Division that was also going to take part in the battle Aramis' own Division, the 1st Division, was taking part in.

Without being told by the officers Aramis knew the battle was viewed as an important one because they had been shelling the German positions non-stop for a week. The insistent booming sound along with the flashes of orange light were beginning to invade Aramis' mind, even when there was a few moments of silence he could still hear the shelling and see the flashing lights when he closed his eyes. He found it hard to sleep and was envious of Porthos' ability to fall asleep as soon as he was lying horizontal. Aramis made sure he did not toss and turn to avoid from waking Porthos and the two other men in their dugout, but as soon as he fell asleep to him what felt like minutes later he was being woken up in the morning for some reason or another. The waiting was getting to him, he felt as if he would go mad if he did not _do something_ soon. There was nothing to do other than sit in his dugout or stand on sentry duty and watch as the German lines were bombarded.

From the corner of his eye he watched as the youngest in his company began cleaning their rifles for there was nothing else to do. They were 18, the same age as Thomas, Aramis himself was only 19 (by four months) and he felt years older than the fresh-faced boys new to the horrors of war. It had almost been a year since Aramis watched as the cliffs of Britain faded away from sight; he almost couldn't recall the faces of those he held dear back home. His memories were taken up with the sights he had seen and he hated it. He had no peace of mind; some of his fellow soldiers had the ability shut themselves away in their dugout and get lost in the happy memories of home. Oh how Aramis _envied_ them. What he wouldn't give to just be able to sit quietly and remember the soft, lush grass of the Gloucestershire countryside and remember the fun he and Porthos had growing up on the farm.

His replacement came and Aramis nodded his head in greeting and stepped down into the trench and wandered back to his dugout. While he would much prefer the wide open spaces of the farm back home, he couldn't deny the safety he felt sitting in the small muddy space. Inside was only Porthos, who was busy cleaning his rifle. They would be up extra early the following morning to trek across No Man's Land. Something Aramis was equal parts looking forward to and dreading.

Aramis stretched out on his blanket and angled his head so he could see Porthos with his head rested on one arm.

"Athos seems more tightly strung that usual" commented Aramis, not liking the silence that had taken hold in the dugout.

Porthos snorted without any humour, "He found out his younger brother has joined the army and is about to fight in a battle. What is there _not_ to be tense about?"

"You sound as if you are talking from experience. Don't have a younger brother I don't know about do you?" smirked Aramis.

Porthos reached across and lightly smacked Aramis' arm, "You idiot you know you're my younger brother"

"I don't understand that" mused Aramis as he stared up at the roof of the dugout, "I understand Athos being worried about Thomas, there is four years between them. But I am merely a month younger than you." Aramis then turned his head to look over at Porthos.

Porthos gave his friend a small smile, "I don't know, growing up I always felt a little protective, you were the one who got hurt more often than I, you were ill more, I just got it into my head that I had to look after you"

"Well you don't need to worry anymore" assured Aramis,

"You sure?" questioned Porthos, "Looking at where we are, I'd say I have a lot of cause to worry about you. You can go through phases of being accident prone and a war is no place to become accident prone"

Aramis rolled his eyes, "You can save your breath on that lecture. Mama told me that before I left and she tells me that in every other letter she writes. And look I've been here almost a year and I haven't tripped over my own feet or accidentally shot myself"

Porthos gave Aramis a look; they both knew accidentally shooting themselves was not an option. Others could think they were trying to go home and get out of the army and they could be shot for cowardice.

The sun began to set and so Porthos propped his rifle against the wall and shifted under his blanket, "Best get some sleep"

Aramis moved so his blanket was covering himself and muttered under his breath, "Sleep. What's that?"

Despite Aramis' quiet voice Porthos heard him and shot him a sharp glare, "You didn't say you hadn't been sleeping"

Aramis shrugged the best he could from lying on his back, "I have slept, just not for as long as you or very well"

Porthos' sharp glare became a worried look, "You should have said. You need to be well rested"

Aramis shifted so he was lying on his side facing Porthos, "Don't worry, no matter how tired I am I will be wide awake tomorrow. Getting shot at tends to do that to a person." Porthos wasn't amused by Aramis' attempt at humour. Aramis saw the look on Porthos' face and sighed. "Porthos don't worry, if you do that you won't sleep tonight and then who will make sure I don't trip over my own feet?"

Porthos snorted and nodded his head. They both closed their eyes and Aramis was pleased he drifted off into a dreamless sleep. Maybe his self-consciousness was aware he needed sleep to be able to function tomorrow. While he said to Porthos he would be wide awake from being shot at, Aramis knew without enough sleep he would be slightly slower in making decisions and that was _not_ something he needed when walking across No Man's Land.

When a decision could mean life or death.

* * *

Aramis stumbled through the mud and craters of No Man's Land his rifle griped tightly in his hands, Porthos walked close on his right and Athos nearby on his left. He narrowed his eyes in determination and marched across the mud not once flinching at the rat-a-tat of machine gun and rifle fire, and the screeching of shells.

He heard the desperate mutterings and shouts of his fellow soldiers of their confusion, "We bombarded them for a _week_. Their positions were supposed to be _destroyed_. Why are they still able to shoot at us?!"

Aramis did not look at the men around him, he knew many were being cut down by the machine gun and he could not bear to see his friends lying in the mud knowing he could do nothing to help them. Then, his worst nightmare became a reality. Porthos stumbled and crashed into the mud with a pain filled gasp.

Aramis crouched down beside his friend and was relieved to see Porthos had taken a bullet to his left thigh and it appeared no arteries had been hit.

"What are you doing?!" hissed Porthos as he tried to push Aramis' hands away, "You need to keep moving. If any Officer sees you they'll punish you!"

Aramis forcefully moved Porthos' hands and wrenched a bandage from his pack. While he was not an official medic, Aramis had experience in tending to injuries, something he had learnt from his father. So the medics would give Aramis any bandages they could spare. Just in case they were unable to reach a wounded man and Aramis was closer. Aramis had not had to do this often; he only tended to the men who fell within feet of him. This was something Porthos hated, Porthos would have to keep marching on and leave Aramis in the depths of No Man's Land, whenever Aramis caught up to Porthos he wouldn't be able to stop his friend from ranting at him to stop doing the medics job.

"Aramis! Just leave me here a medic will soon find me!" ordered Porthos as he looked despairingly up at his friend.

"Just shut up and let me bandage your leg!" growled Aramis. Porthos quickly closed his mouth and looked up at Aramis in shock; he was seeing his friend in a new light. He saw how quick and efficient his friend was, Aramis looked calm despite the shells howling overhead. Porthos knew Aramis had done this a few times for their friends and so he made the decision to talk to Athos about the bravery Aramis was showing.

Aramis had soon bandaged Porthos' leg and draped one of Porthos' arms over his shoulders and hoisted Porthos to his feet and Aramis began to walk them towards the German lines.

"You've bandaged my leg now leave me here and _move_ " urged Porthos,

Aramis rolled his eyes and sharply replied, "So you want me to leave you here. Alright so you would be fine to watch me march across this muddy mess and possibly never see me again?"

Porthos' face paled and he began to walk quicker, Aramis had a point. If Aramis did as Porthos said, there was a chance, a very big chance, that Porthos would never see Aramis alive again. No that wasn't an option, if one of them was to die, then they would both go together. Aramis smirked knowing that he had won and so he gripped Porthos' waist a little tighter and carried most of Porthos' weight as they made their way to the German trench.

* * *

The two friends stumbled over to the meeting point where the Sergeant, a man in his early forties called Charles Fowler, was starting to take a register of the men from their platoon. Just to the side Aramis spotted Athos stood watching as the men from his platoon slowly started to make their way over.

"Baldwin, John"

"Sir"

"Barker, Derrick"

Pause.

"Berry, Jerald"

"Sir"

"Bridges, Thomas"

Pause.

"Brooks, Andrew"

"Sir"

"Brooks, Gerald"

"Sir"

"Bryant, Kevin"

Pause.

"Daniel, Colin"

Pause.

"d'Herblay, Aramis"

"Sir" responded Aramis, his eyes lowered as even he could see that over half of their platoon of thirty-five men was missing from the meeting point.

"Du Vallon, Porthos"

"Sir" answered Porthos, trying to keep his voice neutral from the pain from his leg and the pain at the sheer number of their friends who had been lost. Aramis hoped that most of their friends were only injured, waiting in No Man's Land for someone to help them. He didn't know how much he believed in that hope.

"Elliott, Charles"

Pause.

"Elliott, Darrel"

"Sir" came the pained answer.

"Elliott, Kenneth"

Pause. Aramis bowed his head, Darrel had lost both of his brothers in the same day. Aramis didn't look at Porthos knowing that had the bullet that hit Porthos been a little higher he would be in Darrel's position.

"Gilbert, Hugh"

Pause.

"Gray, Edward"

"Sir"

"Gray, Robert"

"Sir"

"Hamilton, Ellis"

Pause.

"Harris, John"

"Sir"

"Higgins, Leo"

Pause. Aramis could hear Sergeant Fowler's voice begin to crack with emotion, as the reality of so many who had been lost came crashing down.

"Hughes, Robin"

Pause.

"Mason, Jamie"

Pause.

"Mason, Thomas"

Pause.

"Moore, Charles"

Pause.

"Patterson, Joe"

Pause.

"Porter, Douglas"

"Sir" the sigh of relief was audible. After so many names going unanswered it was a relief to know at least some more of them has still survived.

"Powell, Arthur"

"Sir"

"Price, Peter"

Pause.

"Richardson, Harry"

Pause.

"Russell, Frank"

Pause.

"Scott, Victor"

Pause.

"Stone, Francis"

"Sir"

"Taylor, Ryan"

Pause.

"Thompson, Joseph"

"Sir"

"Watkins, John"

Pause.

"White, Brian"

Pause.

At the end of the list, there wasn't a man standing at the meeting point who didn't have tears in his eyes. So many had been lost. The poor mother of Jamie and Thomas Mason would be getting two telegrams informing her of the death of her sons. Darrel Elliott, should he survive the war, would be the only brother out of three returning home. Aramis shook his head at the unfairness of it all.

* * *

**2** **nd** **July 1916**

Aramis sat in the trench forlornly, he was burrowed into a dugout with Darrel Elliott; he had taken the 18 year old under his wing. He hadn't wanted to after what happened to Jimmy Marshall, but Darrel was used to the company of his older brothers, he didn't have them anymore. Porthos had been taken to a Casualty Clearing Station and from there moved to a Field Hospital; Porthos had kicked up a fuss. He didn't want to leave Aramis behind, but Aramis could only tell Porthos that he would be fine. The desperate look in Porthos' eyes would be a look that would haunt Aramis for a very long time. He had grasped Porthos' hand and squeezed, it was uncertain if Aramis would ever see his brother again.

Aramis shook himself out of his thoughts and turned to Darrel who sat staring blankly at his hands. Aramis wrapped an arm around the younger boy's shoulder and pushed Darrel's rations into his hands.

"Eat Darrel" urged Aramis,

Darrel turned his pitiful eyes on Aramis, "I can't I'm not hungry, just the thought of eating makes me feel sick"

Aramis nodded in understanding, "Just little bites now and then. That'll be just as good for you"

The boy nodded and took a few bites before placing his rations next to him and settled down to go to sleep.

Aramis watched the lonely figure of Athos, as he stood overlooking the trench just outside the dugout. Aramis stood up and went to stand beside his childhood friend. Minutes after the register was taken the day before, a messenger had arrived to inform Athos that his brother, Thomas, had been killed. Standing beside his friend Aramis could smell the alcohol Athos had consumed.

"Athos" greeted Aramis, at a loss for what to say for the first time in his life.

"You're still here then" commented Athos, "I'm beginning to lose track on who is alive and who isn't"

"I'm still here and so will Porthos once he gets back from the Field Hospital" replied Aramis, trying to show Athos that he wasn't alone.

"For how much longer?" questioned Athos bitterly before he turned and stumbled through the trench, Aramis' saddened eyes following him.

* * *

**12** **th** **July 1916**

Aramis and ten other men from his platoon were grouped together with ten men from another platoon from their company. They were tasked with patrolling the surrounding area for anything that might be useful in forcing the Germans out of the area. Aramis and a man he was friendly with called Marsac, paired off to stand sentry a little away from the men as they rested in the woods. Suddenly, Aramis felt his stomach twist and he knew something was wrong. So he spun around and charged back towards the others with Marsac hot on his heels. And there he came face to face with his friends being massacred by a bigger group of German soldiers. Without thought Aramis loaded his rifle and began to fire, but soon he was grouped with the others and didn't have enough room to aim with his rifle so he began to use it to hit the enemy.

He spun around and found himself staring at a German rifle that was pointed at him, he braced himself for the shot and sent up a prayer that Porthos would not take his death too hard. But the German soldier lowered his weapon, he approached Aramis swiftly.

"You are a boy, I will not kill you. But you must be injured for my fellows to believe you are dead" Aramis frowned in his concentration to understand the thick accent. Just as he understood that he was being spared, the German raised his rifle and with the butt of the rifle he hit Aramis on the head.

Pain consumed Aramis' head like fire, as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He felt himself fall to the ground and roll down a small embankment, the last thing he saw before the darkness consumed him was Marsac crouched over him. Hiding them both from the enemy's eyes.


	4. The worst is the unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For timeline purposes this chapter is set during the Battle of Bazentin Ridge 14-17 July 1916, the second offensive of the Battle of the Somme. This chapter has a different POV.

**15** **th** **July 1916**

Porthos clambered out of a truck and looked upon the series of trenches knowing that his friends and his brother Aramis were stuck there. While he had been resting at the Field Hospital in a bed, his friends had been sitting in the cold mud for two weeks. He knew that the second offensive against the Germans had begun and 1st Division had been unlucky enough to be involved in this offensive immediately after the first offensive. Porthos tried not to imagine what might have become of Aramis without him there to keep an eye on his friend. Ever since they were small boys trouble always seemed to follow Aramis, in the year that they had been in France Porthos could see how the war was affecting Aramis. It was affecting them all, but Aramis seemed to be haunted the most. Aramis loved the beauty in nature and humanity, there was no beauty in war only; horror, pain and death.

He was told where his Battalion was in the mass of trenches and slowly made his way to the front. He chuckled dryly without humour, any sane person would walk away from the frontline, but here he was heading towards the fighting.

He found Captain Treville and was confused to see the sympathetic look on the older man's face. Treville rested a hand on his shoulder and opened his mouth to speak but one of the Lieutenants needed his attention, so Treville patted his shoulder and turned away. Porthos walked through the trench to be faced with more sympathetic looks. He brushed them aside looking for Aramis, but he saw Athos first.

"Still alive then" greeted Porthos smiling at his childhood friend.

Athos spun around with shock written across his face, "You're alive."

Porthos frowned, "Of course I am, I was only shot in the leg. You saw me"

"I thought I had lost you to" admitted Athos softly.

Porthos' eyebrows narrowed in confusion, "You thought you lost me to. What does that mean?"

Athos merely looked at Porthos wearing the same look on his face he had when he learned of Thomas' death.

Porthos' eyes widened and he began to shake his head and moaned, "No. No. _No_!"

Athos stepped closer and rested both his hands on Porthos' shoulders, "I am sorry Porthos"

Porthos gripped his hair tightly and clenched his eyes shut, "Oh please God _no_. Not Aramis!"

Athos squeezed Porthos' shoulders tighter and then pulled the younger boy into an empty dugout. Athos sat opposite Porthos with a grim look on his face and waited for Porthos to gather his thoughts together.

From where he was sitting with his head in his hands Porthos saw from the corner of his eye the look on Athos' face and closed his eyes in pain. Athos was sitting just like Aramis used to with the same look on his face.

"Where is he?" asked Porthos hoarsely as he sat up and dejectedly leaned back against the mud wall. Athos frowned. "I want to say goodbye even if it is to a grave, for all intense and purposes he was my brother"

"I don't know where he is" answered Athos,

Porthos sighed and thought maybe he could find out where Aramis was buried and instead asked brokenly, "What…what happened to him? Was his…death…was it long and painful? Or was it swift and quick?"

"I don't know" sighed Athos.

"You don't know much then" spat Porthos. He sighed and then looked over at Athos, "I'm sorry"

"Don't be" responded Athos with a look on his face that Porthos knew meant he was beating himself up. "I don't know much, in fact no one does"

"What do you mean?" questioned Porthos, his hands clenched into fists in his lap. All he wanted to do was say goodbye to the brother who he failed to look after. Was that too much to ask for?

Athos rubbed a hand across his face, "Aramis and ten men from our platoon and ten men from another platoon were sent out on a patrol to scout the area. And find anything that might help push the Germans back, all we know is that they were ambushed."

"If you don't know what happened to Aramis. How do you know this?" asked Porthos,

Athos sighed, "When the patrol failed to return we went out to find them. We found them in the woods. Slaughtered."

Porthos bit back a moan at the painful thought of Aramis slaughtered in some woods like an animal. "So he is dead then"

"We can only presume he is" answered Athos, seeing the look on Porthos' face he continued, "All the men were accounted for. All of them except Marsac and Aramis"

"So he's alive!" exclaimed Porthos happily, his eyes brightening in hope.

"Porthos" growled Athos, "If he was alive do you _really_ think that I would have pulled you into this dugout to say I was sorry? I know I occasionally helped Aramis play a joke on you, but this is something I would never do. This is something _Aramis_ would _never_ do"

"But you didn't find him in the woods!" argued Porthos, his voice laced with hope.

Athos sighed and leaning forward rested a hand on Porthos' knee, "Porthos there is the very _real_ possibility that Aramis was taken prisoner by the Germans, but he could still die in a Prisoner of War camp. And if he wasn't, the patrol set out on the 12th, that was three days ago Porthos. Aramis would most certainly have been injured and with no medical aid…"

Porthos bowed his head as Athos' words sunk in. He thought back on Aramis, the little brother his parents had never given him, he remembered the look on Aramis' face when he finally managed to climb trees just as high as Porthos could. He remembered the look on Aramis' face when he rode for hours out on the countryside. While he was only a month and a half older than Aramis, once he was a toddler and understood that being the eldest it was his responsibility to watch over Aramis he had sworn to protect the younger boy. And he had failed, Athos told him how Aramis was gone, Aramis had died in a war he never wanted any part of. Porthos knew Aramis only joined the army because he himself was. Aramis didn't want him to go to war alone; it was his fault Aramis had ended up on that patrol. Then a thought occurred to him.

"Marsac" stated Porthos as he raised his head,

Athos frowned, "What about him?"

Porthos leaned forward excitedly, "You said you couldn't find Aramis or Marsac. Fine you do not know what happened to Aramis. But what about Marsac?"

"He was found" answered Athos, his tone laced with hidden anger. "He was found ten miles from the frontline"

"He _deserted?!_ " Porthos exclaimed angrily.

Athos nodded, "He was found the following day"

"What did he say?" demanded Porthos,

"Nothing of any use" dismissed Athos, "He was rambling on like a mad man, no one could make any sense of him. We asked him about what happened and he stopped talking and had a faraway look on his face. I asked him about Aramis and all he did was look through me."

"Where is Marsac now?"

"Dead. He was Shot"

"What?!" Porthos cried out.

"He was a deserter, you know how they are dealt with" answered Athos with a frown, "If he didn't answer me when I asked him about Aramis, he wouldn't have answered you either"

Porthos raised his head defiantly, "I will not believe Aramis is dead until I see a body."

Athos sighed and rose to his feet, the frown still etched across his face, "As you will" he commented dryly. "But do not blame me when the wondering keeps you up at night, this war could last for years and you might not get an answer. Even when the war has ended, you may never get an answer. There is no use in hoping Porthos; it will only drive you to madness."

Porthos narrowed his eyes, "Better to hope than to believe the worst. You say hoping will only drive me to madness. I say hoping will only keep me fighting; Aramis was the reason I kept going, without him I would have given up months ago and let fate decide what happened to me. So I will not let him down, while there is no definite answer to his fate. I _will not_ believe that he is dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that I have gotten rid of Marsac after "Savoy" does not bother anyone and I promise Aramis will be seen in the next chapter. I just thought it would be interesting to just have a chapter with Porthos and Athos; I'd love to hear what you thought.


	5. If you should die before I find you

 

**18** **th** **July 1916**

Porthos sat hunched over in his dugout, with his head in his hands. There had still been no news of Aramis and he stubbornly refused to believe that his brother was dead. By now he knew Aramis' parents would have received a telegram informing them that Aramis had been reported Missing in Action, he had sent his own letter explaining that he did not believe Aramis was dead. But it had been five days since Aramis set out with the patrol which never returned, with 1st Division not taking part in the next offensive Porthos hoped that with the much needed break he would be able to find some information that might lead him to Aramis.

Athos was being reluctant in helping Porthos, and he knew it was because Athos did not want to hope. When he had already lost his brother and had seen many men go missing to be later found dead or not found at all.

While Aramis may have survived the massacre and be taken to a Field Hospital, he didn't know the extent of Aramis' injuries and he was worried that Aramis may die alone. Aramis' biggest fear all his life was the fear of being alone. Porthos knew if Aramis had died, then he would never forgive himself. Aramis was the kindest person he had ever met and he liked people, so for him to end up dying without his friends wouldn't be fair to the person who had been Porthos' brother his entire life.

He shook himself and banished the thoughts from his mind and latched onto his hope and belief that Aramis was still alive. He wasn't dead, Porthos just knew it. While he still believed Aramis was alive, it still meant that he was no closer in finding out where Aramis was. There was a slight chance that Aramis hadn't been taken to a Field Hospital, he could have been found by some French civilians and they could have taken him to their house to care for his injuries before determining him strong enough to travel the distance to a Field Hospital.

Porthos sat up and rubbed a hand across his face and looked up at the sky, as if it held all his answers and would tell him where Aramis was. "Where are you Aramis? I know you are not dead. So where are you?"

* * *

Aramis groaned, he felt so hot and had no control over the shivers that shook his body. He had tried many times to force his eyes open, but his eyelids would just not budge. He tried with all his might to open his eyes, for leaving them closed allowed for the haunting memories of the massacre to take a firm grip over his thoughts. Every now and then he would feel a cool and comforting hand rest on his forehead and he would find himself leaning into the touch.

If he didn't concentrate too hard he could almost believe it was his mother who was resting her hand on his head and running her fingers through his hair. In these peaceful moments he was able to drag his thoughts away from the massacre and instead he could focus on happy memories of home. The mishaps he, Porthos, Thomas and even Athos would get into, caring Isabelle with her sharp tongue and perfect Anne who could match his wit but not hesitate to help him even if he did not ask.

He did not know how long it had been since the massacre, but his head still ached and while he may not be very aware of his surroundings he knew his friends were not with him.

He heard the scraping of a chair and tilted his head in the direction of the noise; a soft hand came to rest on his forehead. "I wish we knew your name" murmured the nurse sat beside him.

Aramis was confused, why didn't they know his name? Yes he left his personal things in his dugout, but he had still been wearing his dogtags when he was on the patrol.

The nurse continued speaking to him, "Your dogtags must have been lost when you were changed out of your uniform. You've been here six days; your family would have been informed that you were missing by now. I wish I knew who you were so I could write to them and tell them that you are alright."

_The patrol was six days ago?! Porthos would be back with the Battalion by now, they would have told him I was missing. He better not get himself killed! Otherwise I'll bring him back to life so I can kill him myself!_ Thought Aramis, he then began to fight to open his eyes. He managed to open them a little; the nurse gasped and leaned over him.

"Porthos" murmured Aramis, his eyes beginning to flicker shut to his annoyance.

"Is that your name?" asked the nurse gently as she held his hand.

Aramis shook his head slightly, he was beginning to lose his fight with consciousness but his worry for Porthos kept him fighting that little bit longer.

"A friend?" questioned the nurse quickly, as she too could see Aramis was slowly sinking towards unconsciousness.

Aramis nodded, "Porthos…Du Vallon…1st Division…Gloucestershire…Regiment…" as Aramis' eyes slipped closed, he saw the nurse's smiling face and knew that she would get word to Porthos that he was alive. And so Aramis let the darkness consume him knowing that it would stop the pain in his head.

Before he lost all sense of awareness of what was going on around him he felt the nurse run her fingers though his hair and heard her softly say, "I'll get word to your friend, I promise."

Aramis slipped back into unconsciousness with a smile on his face.

* * *

"Du Vallon!" Porthos spun around at Treville's shout, seeing the Captain gesturing to him.

Porthos jogged over and stopping he saluted the Captain. "Sir?"

"I have some news for you" said Treville as he led Porthos into the Officer's dugout, Porthos could see Athos sat at the table slowly drinking from a flask. Treville gestured for Porthos to take a seat and sat across from the younger boy. "It is about your friend"

"Aramis?" Porthos questioned sitting up straighter, from the corner of his eye he saw Athos copy his movement and putting his flask down on the rickety wooden table.

Treville nodded, "A nurse from the nearest Field Hospital contacted me"

"So he was taken to a Field Hospital?" asked Porthos excitedly,

Treville smiled, "He suffered a blow to the head which is just a small injury, but he developed a fever which kept him unconscious and unable to inform anyone of his name"

Porthos frowned, "But he would have been wearing his dogtags"

Treville nodded, "I said as much to the nurse, but she explained that his dogtags must have been accidentally removed with his uniform. And with Aramis being unable to talk meant that the orderlies and nurses were unable to be sure who Aramis was. But Aramis regained consciousness earlier today and gave the nurse your name and this regiment."

"He'll be disappointed to learn that he was unconscious while a nurse undressed him" smirked Porthos, as a grin slowly spread across his face. He looked over at Athos, who raised his flask in a silent toast and took a sip.

"Can I go and see him Sir?" asked Porthos, as he fiddled with his hands in his nervous excitement.

"Technically I am not allowed to let you, but civilian family members in some cases are granted permission to visit their loved ones at Field Hospitals. So if anyone asks, Private d'Herblay is your cousin. Understood?"

Porthos grinned with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Understood Sir." Porthos rose to his feet and saluted Treville before he turned and left the dugout feeling more relaxed than he had in the past six days.

As he walked through the trench he caught sight of Darrel Elliot looking at him. He had learned from Athos that while he had been injured at the Field Hospital Aramis had taken Darrel under his wing, something Porthos thought Aramis would never do after Jimmy Marshall was killed. So Porthos smiled and nodded at Darrel, the younger boy's face broke out into a smile knowing that Porthos was telling him Aramis was alright. Porthos' heart lightened at the sight, ever since his brother's deaths Darrel had become a shell of himself and no longer smiled or laughed. Knowing that Aramis had helped the boy continue fighting only proved what Porthos already knew about Aramis. That his friend was kind and caring enough to put his own wants and needs aside to look after someone else. Despite the pain of losing Jimmy after watching over him, Aramis was still prepared to do the same for Darrel.

Porthos looked up at the blue sky, the sun seemed to be shining brighter, but his brother was still alive, that was all that mattered.


	6. Knowing where you need to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porthos might be OOC, but I'm hoping that he's not.

**19** **th** **July 1916**

Porthos was almost skipping to the truck that would take him to the Field Hospital where Aramis was, he had been unable to sleep due to his excitement of knowing that Aramis was alive. Apart from a minor head injury and a fever Aramis was fine, considering what he had gone through he had gotten off lightly. Porthos pulled himself up into the truck Athos not far behind him, looking closely at his friend Porthos was sure he could see a small smile on Athos' face. On the journey Porthos was not aware of his surroundings; instead his mind was on how Aramis' parents would soon get a telegram informing them that their son was alive; not missing presumed dead.

While Porthos hated the idea of his best friend and brother as dead, he had to admit he would rather have been told that Aramis was dead, than be left wondering what had become of his brother. Yes, knowing was infinitely better than not knowing.

Soon the truck came to a stop and Porthos clambered over Athos' legs in his eagerness to see Aramis and jumped down onto the ground, as soon as his feet hit the ground he turned around to look at the hospital when he frowned.

Athos came to stand beside him and looked from Porthos to the hospital and back again. His eyebrows creased in confusion. "Why are you frowning? You were positively giddy a moment ago."

Without turning to face Athos Porthos commented, "I was here"

"Pardon?" queried Athos,

"When I was wounded I was brought here" elaborated Porthos in a low whisper, clearing his throat to try and keep his voice even.

"Well…yes" frowned Athos, "You were wounded and this is the nearest Field Hospital"

"You don't understand Athos!" exclaimed Porthos, finally looking at his friend. "When Aramis went on that patrol I was still at the Field Hospital resting. The nurse told Treville that Aramis was brought in a day after the massacre!"

Athos' eyes widened a fraction when he realized what Porthos was saying.

"I was here!" moaned Porthos as he backed away from Athos, his hands gripping his hair, "I was so close! I was here when he was first brought here! I was so close and I didn't even know!"

Athos stepped closer and forcefully grasped hold of Porthos' shoulders. "Do _not_. Feel guilty about this Porthos"

"Why shouldn't I? All that time spent worrying about whether Aramis was alive and he was _here_! Our times here overlapped! I didn't know that my brother was here!-"

"Porthos!" interjected Athos, as he tried to calm his friend, but either Porthos couldn't hear him or he was choosing to ignore him.

"I overheard a nurse and orderly talking about a wounded man with a head injury and who was unconscious with a fever. It was Aramis! They were concerned that he might die from the fever, he could have died and I was _so close_ yet I was not at his side!"

" _Enough Porthos_!" hissed Athos. "They didn't know his name, you didn't _see_ him. How could you possibly have known he needed you when you had no clue that he was even here?! You didn't even know that he went on a patrol and was wounded! Do _not_ blame yourself when there is no blame to begin with. What happened to Aramis was terrible, but in no way was it your fault. Understand?" Porthos nodded, Athos sighed deeply and in a softer voice continued, "As you have now calmed down lets go find Aramis shall we?"

Again Porthos nodded and he followed Athos into the mass of tents which served as the Field Hospital. He knew Athos was right, that he had no reason to feel guilty, but he couldn't help but think that he should have known that his brother was hurt and needed him. Back home whenever Aramis had been hurt or ill and Porthos was not with him, he always somehow knew Aramis needed him. Why didn't he know this time?

* * *

Aramis in a chair gazing out across the nearby meadow folding a letter into an envelope addressed to Anne. After waking up and remembering the massacre he fully realized how short life could be, you never knew what was around the next corner. While he had no intention of sending the letter to Anne it made him feel better that his feelings for her were written down, and should he not survive the war he knew the letter would be sent on his behalf. He wanted to tell Anne how he felt, but he didn't want to say it in a letter if he could help it. He vowed once he returned home, the first chance he got, he was going to tell Anne how he felt.

With the letter tucked inside the pocket of his hospital issue dressing gown he leaned back in his chair and looked across the meadow, absentmindedly scratching at the bandage which surrounded his head. His fever seemed to have broken and he was told his headaches and dizziness would fade soon, so in two days he would be marching back up the line. A part of him looked forward to it, to be able to see Porthos and Athos again. But another part of him wanted to stay just sat watching the peaceful meadow. If he didn't think too hard he could fool himself into believing that he was looking out at the fields from his bedroom window, but the distant booming of shells ruined that peaceful thought.

He felt eyes watching him and just ignored it, since waking up he was used to the hospital staff keeping a careful watch over him. He just ignored them, but since the massacre he had become slightly nervous when people stared at him too long or approached him silently. The longer the person, or people, stared the more uneasy he got. He swallowed, trying to push down his panic. _It's safe here. You're at a Hospital not in the trenches. It's fine. You're safe_.

He heard the murmurings of voices, he couldn't tell if they were the voices of people he knew but he knew they were continuing to stare. He rubbed a hand over his face and was dismayed to see it shaking. He slumped forward a little so his hand covered his eyes and rested his elbow on the arm of the chair. Through the gaps in his fingers he continued to stare out at the meadow. He tensed at the sound of approaching quiet footsteps.

The footsteps stopped a few paces away. The person said nothing. Aramis shut his eyes and tried not to let his breathing become loud and ragged in his growing panic.

"Aramis"

His eyes opened wide. He slowly lowered his hand and turned his head to find Porthos standing nearby with a smile on his face and his eyes suspiciously bright with unshed tears.

"Porthos" murmured Aramis in disbelief, when he had woken up after telling the nurse Porthos' name he had remembered that his friend had been injured. The nurse assured him Porthos was fine and was back in the trenches, but Aramis found he couldn't fully believe her without seeing Porthos for himself. But his dreams and thoughts had been filled with the ghosts of the massacre and found himself doubting that Porthos was really standing in front of him. "Is it really you?"

"It's really me" confirmed Porthos,

"You're not a ghost?" checked Aramis warily.

Porthos' face looked pained at Aramis' question but he smiled again and replied, "No I'm not."

Aramis smiled and shakily got to his feet, then before he realized what was happening Porthos was hugging him tightly.

"Don't _ever_ do that to me again!" ordered Porthos, his voice muffled by Aramis' shoulder.

Aramis chuckled for the first time in a long time, "I'll certainly do my best"

"Try harder than that" commented Porthos, he leaned back and ruffled Aramis' hair. Aramis stumbled a little so Porthos gently pushed him back into the chair.

Aramis then finally took in that Porthos was there with him. Something that wasn't normally allowed.

"What's wrong?" asked Porthos when he saw Aramis' frown, "Do you need a nurse?" he stood and was about to walk over to the nearest nurse he could see when Aramis grasped his sleeve and shook his head. Porthos then knelt down in front of him.

"I was wondering how you were allowed to come see me, normally it's not allowed" he said looking down at Porthos in confusion.

Porthos looked up at him in mock horror, "Aramis! Do you really think Captain Treville would not allow me to come and see my own cousin at the Field Hospital?!"

Aramis paused, and then burst out laughing. It was the first laugh he had had in months and found he couldn't stop. He pressed a hand against his chest and gasped for breath, but still he continued laughing.

"Porthos" chided Athos as he approached, "You're not supposed to try and kill him as soon as you find him." This only made Aramis laugh harder, that and along with Porthos' worried look that showed he was concerned that Aramis may have lost his mind.

Once Aramis had calmed down he relaxed seeing that his friends were safe and for the moment, the ghosts of his friends were leaving him in peace.

* * *

 **21** **st** **July 1916**

Porthos was stood waiting for the men who were marching back from the Field Hospital, among them was Aramis. While he wanted Aramis at his side to make sure his brother was alright, he couldn't help but wish that Aramis was back in Kemble, far away from the trenches and _safe_.

He thought back on when he found Aramis at the Field Hospital. Seeing Aramis' hunched figure and the thick bandage that surrounded his head contrasting with his dark hair, he knew that it was a sight he would never forget. To him it proved that Aramis was alive, but he couldn't deny, that when Aramis looked up at him, he was worried to see Aramis' usually bright eyes were dull. Aramis asking him if he was a ghost also upset him; it showed that Aramis hadn't been left with a fever and a minor head injury. The massacre had also left him with nightmares. But he had relaxed, when Aramis began laughing hysterically his eyes brightened a little, leaving Porthos knowing that someday Aramis would heal emotionally from the massacre.

Aramis had told him and Athos how the German soldier spared him and how he had woken up about an hour later to Marsac sitting in front of him. Marsac had carried Aramis a mile away from the massacre site, Aramis asked if any others had survived. Marsac stood up, shook his head and left. Leaving Aramis to haul himself to his feet and stumble through the woods with no rations, no map and no weapon. Luckily for Aramis he stumbled towards a road, there he collapsed at the feet of two British soldiers from a different Division. They took him to the Field Hospital where his dogtags were accidentally removed leaving no one sure who he was and which Division he was from. And also left his friends unsure where Aramis had gone, and if he was even alive.

Hearing the story made Porthos want to kill Marsac himself, leaving a wounded man alone in an area he didn't know was unspeakable. Aramis, to Porthos' shock, had no ill will towards Marsac and was even saddened to hear that Marsac had been found guilty of desertion and shot.

Porthos was brought out of his musings at the sound of marching footsteps; he looked and saw the healed men marching towards him. Soon the men halted, he spotted Aramis standing tall in his uniform and waited as the men were told to fall out. Aramis walked over to him smiling.

Porthos clapped Aramis on the shoulder and said, "Good to have you back brother."


	7. Home is where the heart is

**Late September 1918**

Aramis was sat in the entrance to his dugout watching as Darrel took apart his rifle to clean it, Aramis watched carefully, making sure when Darrel reassembled the rifle that everything was where it should be. Last time Darrel took it apart to clean it he had put it together wrong so when Sergeant Fowler took them to the range for practise Darrel's weapon did not fire, he was lucky, something could have seriously gone wrong and Darrel may have injured himself.

Darrel looked up at him and smiling gestured to the rifle he was now starting to put back together. Aramis nodded at him and smiled telling Darrel so far he had put everything back where it should be. After his brother's deaths Darrel had become severely under confident, but slowly that was changing. Once Aramis had returned from the Field Hospital two years ago after the massacre, Darrel had stuck very close to him and Aramis understood that Darrel had been worried that he was going to be alone again. In the week and a half between his brother's deaths and Aramis being involved in the massacre, Darrel had counted Aramis as a best friend.

"What's Kemble like?" asked Darrel as he looked up at Aramis again.

"Look at what you're doing" ordered Aramis lightly, "We don't want a repeat of last time."

Darrel shuddered at the thought; Sergeant Fowler had _not_ been impressed with him mucking up reassembling his rifle. Before he looked back down at his rifle, Darrel gave Aramis a look which meant he wanted his question answered.

Aramis shook his head chuckling, "Darrel you come from Bisley, that's about twelve miles from Kemble! I'd imagine the village you grew up in is very similar to my village."

Darrel shrugged, "Was just wondering."

Aramis laughed, "Well there are lots of fields and farms, the local pub, the school, the railway station-"

"Ha!" exclaimed Darrel, "Bisley doesn't have a railway station! So Kemble and Bisley are not so similar!"

Aramis raised an eyebrow, "But I do believe you also have a school, a pub, and farms with fields?"

"Well yes" responded Darrel,

"So our villages are in fact similar, with just one noticeable difference being a railway station" commented Aramis lightly.

"Oh alright fine!" mumbled Darrel as he went back to assembling his rifle.

Aramis grinned at Darrel and thought that the young twenty year old may have been a huge factor in Aramis being able to function after the massacre. While Athos and Porthos had helped him through the nightmares and flashbacks, being the youngest Aramis had always been the one to be taken care of. But with Darrel being a year younger than him, Aramis had someone to look after; it helped keep his mind off the haunting memories. Darrel had a bright personality and Aramis had vowed to make sure he made it home. Athos had said that was a lot of responsibility for a young twenty-one year old, Aramis had merely stated that Athos had been Darrel's age when he joined the army and was in charge of a Platoon of thirty-five men.

He sighed and leaned back against the dugout wall; he had been at war for three years and just wanted to go home. His missed his mother and father, he missed Porthos' father who was like an uncle, he missed Isabelle and Anne and he missed the freedom of riding his horse out in the open countryside.

He looked to his left hearing approaching footsteps; he smiled as Porthos raised a hand showing they had gotten letters. Aramis was handed two, one he knew was from his mother and one he knew was from Anne by looking at the handwriting on the front.

"Finished cleaning your rifle Darrel?" Asked Porthos, Darrel nodded, "I hope you've assembled it right this time."

"I've been watching" commented Aramis as he took his letters from Porthos,

"Good, I'd hate to see what Fowler would do to you Darrel if that happened again" joked Porthos, Darrel just huffed in annoyance at the reminder of Fowler's rant and stood up and walked over to one of the other men nearby.

Aramis chuckled as he watched Darrel's retreating figure, he decided to read Anne's letter first as he hadn't had one from her in a while. Before he started reading he saw Porthos eagerly open one of his two letters, and he knew the first one wasn't from his mother.

Porthos looked up and saw Aramis' look, "It's from Florence." Aramis raised his eyebrows grinning, Porthos glared, "Oh don't give me that look!"

Aramis chuckled and went back to opening Anne's letter. Florence, or Flea as she was called by friends for her habit of always getting her clothes dirty, had been the only girl Porthos had eyes for back home.

He soaked up the news Anne wrote and could almost hear her voice and see her smile, she asked what it was like in the trenches. So he immediately got out his pencil and some paper, he did not intend on telling her about the horrors of the trenches, but he could show her that there were times of peace. He looked around him at what the men were doing and began drawing men playing cards, men standing on sentry duty, men talking and joking, he drew Darrel showing Sergeant Fowler his correctly assembled rifle and he even added himself and Porthos in the foreground; with Porthos reading and himself drawing.

He heard an amazed whistle and looked up to find Porthos looking at his drawing, "What?" he questioned.

"That's pretty good 'Mis" commented Porthos, he smiled when he saw himself and Aramis in the foreground.

"Is it?"

"Yes! You've even drawn yourself to a perfect likeness. This is like looking at a photograph!" exclaimed Porthos.

Aramis shrugged, "Anne asked what it was like in the trenches, thought I'd show her it isn't all bad."

Porthos smiled and went back to reading his letters while Aramis carefully folded the drawing and placed it in an envelope addressed to Anne.

* * *

That night was not a peaceful one for Aramis. The memories of the massacre cropped up without warning, he tossed and turned eliciting groans from Porthos and Darrel (thankfully they slept on). Soon he gave up trying to sleep and sat up singing songs in his head to keep himself from thinking of the massacre. It didn't work.

Morning came and Porthos stirred, he looked up to find Aramis sat up and staring at nothing. He reached out a hand to touch Aramis' arm, Aramis flinched and Porthos knew what was bothering Aramis. He leaned over and nudged Darrel awake, Darrel opened his mouth to complain, but Porthos shook his head and then the young man saw Aramis. He gathered his rifle and helmet and stepped out of the dugout.

Once they were alone Porthos gently shook Aramis into awareness.

"Porthos?" mumbled Aramis blinking slowly, but still staring straight ahead.

"I'm here" soothed Porthos as he rubbed Aramis' arm, knowing that for some reason when Aramis thought about the massacre he always felt cold. Even two years later.

"They're dead. There was so much blood, oh God Porthos they're _dead_!" moaned Aramis, as he pitched forward so his head rested in his hands.

"Shhhh, I know. I know" comforted Porthos; he swallowed past the lump in his throat, as he leaned forward a little to rub Aramis' back comfortingly. He always hated hearing Aramis sound so lost and defeated.

"Why did it happen?" questioned Aramis in a quiet and broken voice.

"I don't know" choked Porthos, he hated that his friends had been slaughtered in the woods, but he couldn't help but be glad Aramis was spared.

"I hate that the massacre happened. I hate seeing men die. I hate feeling useless. And I _hate this damn war_!" hissed Aramis, his voice rising in volume a little at his last admission. His head shooting up as he glared out at the trench.

"I know" replied Porthos, wishing that he could get Aramis home. "But even if we didn't volunteer when we did. We would have been drafted by now."

"I know" sighed Aramis; he slumped against Porthos and felt comforted by his friend's arm around his shoulders. "I just want to go home" whimpered Aramis.

"Me too Aramis. Me too" breathed Porthos sadly. He squeezed Aramis' shoulders comfortingly and let Aramis rest his head on his shoulder. Aramis' hair tickled his cheek, but he didn't care. Right now Aramis needed comforting, not for the first time he cursed at how deeply he slept. He knew if he was a lighter sleeper (like Aramis); he would be able to soothe Aramis during the night and make sure Aramis was pulled from his haunting memories sooner.

They sat there quietly, each lost in their own thoughts of home. And the desire for the war to end so they could go home, and live the rest of their lives in peace.

* * *

**Early October 1918**

Anne sat at the table in her parents' house, today was her day off from the Munitions factory. Her father was sat reading the newspaper and she could see the front page headline about the British troops dug in in their trenches giving the ultimate sacrifice for their King and country. She shuddered and imagined carefree Aramis stuck in the mud, she knew her friend would not come home as carefree as he had been when he left. If he came home at all. She shook herself and banished the thought away. Aramis had promised to come home, and he _always_ kept his promises. But she couldn't help but remember those two weeks in July two years ago when Aramis' parents had been informed that he was Missing in Action, Presumed Dead.

That was why she had been unable to write to him for a while, July had conjured up the helpless feeling she had had when she thought Aramis wasn't coming home. She knew she loved him with all her heart, but she was terrified at the thought of losing him. Her mother had encouraged her to write a letter and she was waiting for a reply. If he was able to write to her.

 _Stop it Anne!_ She told herself, _He will come home. Just like he promised._

Her mother entered the room holding an envelope and handed it to her smiling. She hastily opened the letter and smiled seeing it was from Aramis. She read and re-read the letter until she could almost know it word for word, and that was when she saw the drawing. She had known growing up that Aramis liked to draw but she had never seen a single drawing and so had no idea of the pure talent Aramis possessed.

Suddenly she thought that Aramis' mother might like to see the drawing, so Anne gathered up the letter and drawing and began walking to the end of the village. To the farm where Aramis and Porthos had both grown up.

She opened the farmhouse door and called out, Sophie answered and Anne walked into the kitchen where Sophie and Ronald were sitting. Porthos' father was probably visiting his wife's grave, he had been doing that a lot since Porthos left to go to war.

"Anne dear, what a pleasant surprise" greeted Sophie,

"I had a letter from Aramis and it had a drawing. I thought you'd like to see it" smiled Anne,

Sophie brightened, "Oh yes please! That boy never let me look at the drawings he did, Porthos was the only one whoever saw them."

Anne walked over to the table and placed the drawing in front of Sophie, the letter tucked safely in her pocket. Sophie slowly outstretched her hand and unfolded the paper. She gasped at the sight of the drawing and couldn't help but smile seeing Aramis and Porthos in the foreground. She drank up the sight of the peaceful drawing and looked up at Anne smiling her thanks.

"This drawing takes my breath away! I wonder why Aramis never showed me his drawings" mused Sophie,

Anne shrugged, "I think he thought that they were never any good."

Sophie tutted as she shook her head, "For all outwards appearances Aramis seems very confident of himself. But he really doubts himself sometimes."

Anne watched as Ronald approached his wife slowly, he looked at the drawing for a few moments before he turned and rushed out of the room. Anne looked back in surprise at Sophie, the older woman smiled slightly as she handed Anne back the drawing.

Sophie gestured to Anne to sit, once they were both seated Sophie sighed, "When Aramis got on that train to go off to war, Ronald hasn't been able to write to Aramis."

"Why?" Anne asked in shock, Aramis had been gone for just over three years. That was a long time to go without speaking.

"Because going to war changed Ronald himself, he is haunted by his memories and he can't bear the thought of Aramis seeing similar things. Aramis is our last surviving child and he was always so happy and cheerful, he loved the sights and sounds of nature; he loved the beauty of it all. But there is no beauty in war. Ronald is afraid of what will become of Aramis when he comes home, from reading his letters I can tell myself that Aramis has changed."

Anne nodded her head; she could also sense Aramis had changed; for the better or the worst was yet to be seen.

Sophie smiled sadly, "When we got that telegram about Aramis two years ago…it almost broke Ronald's heart. He was slowly fading away, he had had a kindred spirit in Aramis; Aramis was just like Roland when he was a boy. The second telegram that arrived telling us Aramis was alive and safe saved me from burying my husband before his time."

Anne sat silent in shock, now fully understanding why Ronald had been even quieter than usual since Aramis went to war.

"Despite his relief at hearing Aramis was alive, Ronald still cannot pick up a pen and write to Aramis. I do not know fully of his reasons. But I do know he is afraid" said Sophie.

Anne stayed a little longer talking to Sophie before she stood and left the farmhouse. She then spotted Ronald leaning against a fence staring out at the fields and grazing animals. She paused and then walked slowly over to the older man.

"Aramis would stand here for hours" commented Ronald softly, "Sometimes just standing here I feel closer to him and I can almost fool myself into believing that he's here, not in France." He then chuckled, but it had a saddened edge to it. "But not hearing he and Porthos causing mischief and destruction in their wake brings it all back. He's not here; he's off fighting a war he wanted nothing to do with."

Anne reached out and squeezed Ronald's hand, "He'll come home. I just know it." And she found she actually believed what she said.

Ronald turned and took her hand in his own and smiled, it was the first smile Anne had seen on his face since Aramis had left. They stood there for a little while just looking out at the fields; Anne could have sworn she heard Aramis' voice in the wind promising to make it home to her. Her smile widened, and she knew deep down Aramis would return to her and she vowed once he was home, Anne was going to tell Aramis how she felt. The war had shown her that life was too short to waste to wait to act on feelings. But it did also show her that even in the darkest moments in life, there was always hope.


	8. Guide you home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Older men start wars, but younger men fight them" –Albert Einstein

**12:00pm 11** **th** **November 1918**

Peace had arrived at last. In the past hour Aramis had sat with Athos as everyone else celebrated the hour long peace. He had lost count of how many drinks Athos had had, but he himself wasn't drinking. He wanted to fully remember the first day of peace after three long years of fighting. He shifted uncomfortably and Porthos quickly strode over.

"Are you alright?" demanded Porthos worriedly,

"Porthos I'm fine" sighed Aramis tiredly.

"But your shoulder-"

"Is _fine_ " snapped Aramis as his eyes drifted to the sling holding his right arm. He immediately felt bad and rubbed his left hand across his face. "I'm sorry Porthos. But you don't need to worry."

Porthos nodded but he didn't look convinced. He had been separated from Aramis for a week after Aramis had been shot in the shoulder during the Battle of the Sambre on the 4th November. Aramis had been taken to an Aid station and on to a Field Hospital and he had somehow managed to get himself transferred to a Field Hospital which was following the British Army as it steadily marched towards the German border with France. Not that Porthos was complaining at Aramis getting himself transferred, it was easier for him to focus knowing that Aramis was not over fifty miles away.

Porthos went to say something to Aramis but stopped seeing Aramis had drifted off to sleep in his chair, his head drooping forward. Porthos smiled as he sat in the chair on Aramis' left and propped Aramis' head on his own shoulder. He smiled seeing Darrel running around with some of the younger boys, a bullet had scraped Darrel's leg but he had survived due to Aramis' efforts that day crossing the Sambre Canal. A lot had changed since October, Aramis had been promoted to Lance Corporal meaning he was in charge of a group of four men; this had led to Aramis becoming even more serious and a little withdrawn. Porthos knew it was because Aramis had piled more pressure on himself; Aramis felt he was responsible and _needed_ to get his men home. Captain Treville had also recommended Aramis for the Military Medal for his actions on the Sambre, something Aramis strongly denied deserving.

Unwillingly Porthos' thoughts were pulled back to the Sambre, a place where Aramis had also been pulled to in his sleep.

* * *

 _**4**_ _ **th** _ _**November 1918** _

_Aramis crouched low as bullets whizzed past him, making a pat-pat sound as they hit the water. Shells landed all around him with water, dirt and small rocks bouncing of his helmet with pinging sounds. Bodies had steadily begun piling up in the canal and Aramis kept his eyes adverted from them, he knew he wouldn't be able to cross the canal if he was faced with the bodies of his friends. Porthos was crouched on his left and Aramis breathed easier knowing Porthos was beside him._

_Aramis looked on horrified as their medic Sam Hobson fell and didn't get back up, he watched as a Private fell clutching his leg. Knowing that without a medic many more of his friends would die from unattended wounds, Aramis did the only thing he could think of. He surged forward to Sam ignoring Porthos' sudden yells for him to come back; he grabbed the medic's bag and crawled the short distance to the wounded Private._

_Soon a bandage was tied around the Private's leg and he was helping the younger boy back to the safety of the bank where they had come from. He could distantly hear Porthos calling for him but he tuned out the combined voices of Porthos and Athos and steadily began bandaging wounded men and helping them back to the safety of the bank._

_Once the bridges had finally been put together Aramis found it was easier getting to the wounded, Porthos and Athos past him on their way to the German bank. Porthos managed to grab his arm, but he twisted out of Porthos' grip and continued helping the wounded. He saw from the corner of his eye that Athos had to force Porthos to continue moving along the bridge._

" _Aramis!" called Porthos as he tried to escape Athos' hold on him._

" _Go!" shouted Aramis over the booming of shells and whizzing bullets. He looked up and saw Porthos' desperate look, remembering how he felt when Porthos had been wounded in the leg Aramis began to follow his friends when he saw Darrel stumbling over the bridge and noticed a German machine gun pointing in Darrel's direction. Aramis looked sadly up at Porthos; it took a split second until Porthos knew what Aramis was going to do._

" _Don't Aramis!_ _Aramis_ _!" yelled Porthos as he struggled more violently in Athos' grip in his desperation to get to Aramis._

_But Aramis was already moving. He pushed Darrel sideways so they both began to fall into the canal just as the machine gun opened fired. He felt a burning pain erupt in his right shoulder, the machine gun continued to fire over his and Darrel's heads so he let himself go completely limp, Darrel doing the same. They both floated on their backs, gently being rocked by the waves in the canal created by the shells._

" _ARAMIS_ _!" roared Porthos, Aramis kept his eyes closed until the machine gun stopped firing and a shout confirmed it no longer a threat._

_Darrel was already moving, but with the risk of the machine gun over Aramis felt the pain in his shoulder grow more excruciating. He felt Darrel help him to his feet when a second pair of hands joined Darrel's and he knew they belonged to Porthos. Once he and Darrel were on the bridge Porthos hefted him over his shoulder and charged back towards the bank they had taken._

_Porthos gently dropped him on the ground as Athos helped Darrel to the ground._

" _You idiot!" exploded Porthos, "After the massacre I told you to never scare me like that again!"_

 _Aramis blinked slowly up at Porthos not fazed by his brother's anger, "It was either play dead or_ _be dead_ _."_

_Porthos breathed heavily for a moment before the anger drained out of him and he hugged Aramis tightly until his friend let out of a hiss of pain. He suddenly pushed Aramis back so he was lying on his back and saw the blood staining Aramis' uniform over his shoulder._

_Without hesitation Porthos pulled the medic bag off Aramis' shoulders and pulled out a bandage and began trying to stop the bleeding. Treville appeared over Porthos' shoulder and shouted for stretcher bearers._

_Black dots began to cloud Aramis' vision and he was dimly aware of being moved onto a stretcher._

" _Aramis!" called Porthos, "Aramis!"_

* * *

"Aramis!"

Aramis snapped his eyes open and found Porthos kneeling in front of him, he blearily looked around him and checked the time on his watch, it was one o'clock. Two hours of peace.

"Are you alright Aramis?" questioned Porthos worriedly, one hand resting on Aramis' uninjured shoulder. He nodded rubbing his eyes tiredly, he had slept for an hour and yet it still felt like he hadn't slept in years.

"Something wrong?" asked Aramis, he could tell from looking at Porthos' face that his brother was unsure about something.

Porthos sighed, "Treville says our Division is going to be going into Germany as an occupying force."

"So…we're not going home yet?" choked Aramis, he was trying desperately to kept his voice even. But he had thought when the war ended he could go home; it had been three years already, he just wanted to go home.

"Treville has pulled some strings. You, me, Athos and a couple others who've been here the longest are going home" smiled Porthos.

Aramis relaxed and began smiling until he remembered the four men he was in charge of and Darrel. "But I'm a Lance Corporal, my men!-"

"Will be _fine_ " soothed Porthos; he squeezed Aramis' uninjured shoulder comfortingly. "There is no war anymore Aramis. You've done it; you got your men and Darrel through it. While they won't be going home with us, they _will_ make it home."

Aramis nodded his eyes stinging with unshed tears as he looked up at the sky. Finally for the first time hearing the beautiful sound of silence.

* * *

**Late November 1918**

Aramis, Porthos and Athos were stood on a ship that was taking them back to Britain after long years at war. Porthos had been sticking closely to Aramis out of the fear that if he looked away for too long Aramis would be gone forever. Twice he had thought he had lost Aramis, he did not intend to feel that again for a third time. Aramis was stood at the front of the ship flanked on either side by his friends, his eyes staring straight ahead waiting for his first glimpse of the British coast in three years.

They were dressed in their smart uniforms and people had been staring at the ribbon on Aramis' uniform, the one showing his Military Medal. Aramis had become self-conscious with all the staring so Porthos and Athos had taken to standing in front of him.

Aramis touched the ribbon with the hand that wasn't in the sling and sighed. Porthos rested an arm lightly across Aramis' shoulders, "You were so brave Aramis. You deserve it."

"Many others were also brave. Who's to say I was any braver than them?" retorted Aramis, still staring straight ahead.

"I know" murmured Porthos, "But you were not a medic and the fact that you took over from Sam Hobson and risked your life to save others..." Porthos swallowed past the lump in his throat from the memories, "Never doubt yourself Aramis. You _are_ worthy of that medal."

Aramis turned to Athos who nodded seriously, "Porthos is right Aramis. If I had my way you would have had a higher bravery medal."

Aramis opened his mouth to respond but stopped when through the slight mist he saw the outline of the coastline of Britain. His eyes began to water and for the first time it really hit him that it was _over_. No more fighting, no more living in mud and no more death and destruction. He was _home_. Unbidden tears slipped silently down his cheeks as the three of them stood silently. Athos and Porthos wrapped an arm around Aramis connecting the three of them together.

"Welcome home gentlemen" said Athos softly.

"Home" smiled Aramis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to follow, it will be an epilogue set in August 1919.


	9. You'll be fine

**August 1919**

It was early in the morning, the sun was only just peaking over the horizon and Aramis was stood outside the farmhouse where he had grown up. He had woken from yet another nightmare; due to the thunder and lightning storm during the night. The terrifying images still at the front of his mind caused his hands to shake and his breathing to be ragged. He brought his hands up to clench his hair as he shut his eyes tightly trying to banish the images out of his head. He bent forward and leaned on the fence.

Life was slowly going back to how it had been before the war, but Aramis felt that he was still stuck in the horrors of the war while the people around him seemed to move on and forget. Out of the twenty-six men and boys from Kemble to go to war, just under half of them returned.

Except for when he walked through the village, ever since he had received the Military Medal people had stood and stared at him in wonderment. He had become Kemble's resident hero and he _hated it_. He had taken to staying on the farm never straying into the village letting his mother and Anne keep the villagers off the farm. He smiled at the thought of gentle Anne, only she wasn't so gentle when the same people kept trying to catch a glimpse of him on the farm.

His nightmare faded away when he thought back on the day he returned to Kemble, Porthos had sent a telegram informing his father, Jack, Sophie and Ronald that they were returning and what day they would be back.

* * *

_**Late November 1918** _

_As the rolling hills of the Gloucestershire countryside became familiar Aramis, Athos and Porthos rose to their feet in the compartment they had managed to secure for themselves. Aramis went to reach for his kit bag on the shelf above his seat, but with only one useable arm it was a difficult feet. Suddenly the train jerked causing his kit bag to come hurtling to the ground, hitting him on its way down, taking his uniform hat with it. Unfortunately the kit bag struck his injured right shoulder causing him to curse in pain; he brought his left hand up to rest on his right shoulder as he tried to breathe through the pain. He felt Porthos push him back into his seat and he opened his eyes to see Porthos looking part worried and part frustrated._

" _You should have let me get your kit bag for you" chided Porthos as he nudged the offending bag with his foot._

" _I can manage" responded Aramis, he reached down to retrieve his hat from the floor and placed his back on his head._

_Athos rolled his eyes, "If this is you managing, then I'd hate to see what you would do to yourself when you can't manage by yourself."_

_Aramis opened his mouth to retort when Porthos cut him off, "Is your shoulder alright?"_

_Aramis followed Porthos' gaze to see that his left hand was still resting on his injured shoulder, he also noticed Athos' eye flicker worriedly from his face to his shoulder._

" _It's fine" commented Aramis, he would have shrugged if not for the slight twinge in his shoulder every time he tried._

" _Of course it is" replied Porthos dryly, "You wouldn't say anything even if it was."_

_Aramis sighed loudly, "And what would happen if I did? It's not like you'd be able to doing anything! I'm not going to die so let me get on with it!"_

" _You almost died Aramis" growled Porthos as he gripped Aramis' sleeve._

" _Almost_ _" stressed Aramis, "But I didn't! Unless I really am dead and this is some weird dream I'm having in the afterlife."_

" _Don't joke about dying" snapped Porthos,_

" _Why not?!" exclaimed Aramis, his eyes alight with anger. "I faced death twice in two years! I've moved on with it and so should you! And I wish you would stop fussing about it! It makes me feel nervous. Lord knows Mama is going make such a fuss when she sees this sling I'm wearing, so she doesn't need to see you acting as if a small knock to my shoulder will kill me! I will not have you worrying her like that!"_

_The fight drained out of Aramis and he slumped back in the seat and turned so he was staring out at the passing countryside. It felt strange to look upon land not torn up by war. He startled when a hand gently clasped his uninjured shoulder. From the corner of his eye Aramis watched as Porthos sat next to him putting their kit bags in a small pile._

_Soon the train was slowing to a stop and the three of them stood again, he saw Porthos reaching for his kit bag so Aramis quickly reached out and swung his kit bag onto his left shoulder and glared at Porthos daring him to try and take the kit bag off him. Porthos sighed in defeat and nodded at Aramis. The train screeched to a halt and Aramis suddenly felt his stomach twist in nervousness, his palms were sweaty and his heart beating wildly, he felt for sure his friends could hear it. Athos swung open the train door and Aramis stepped down from the carriage and as the steam began to drift away he turned and locked eyes on his parents._

" _Aramis!" cried Sophie, she pushed past the few people that stood between herself and her son and Aramis found himself being squeezed by his mother's arms._

" _Mama" mumbled Aramis into her shoulder. Sophie then seemed to realise that her son was hugging her with one arm, she stepped back and for the first time noticed the white sling that stood out against his uniform._

" _Oh Aramis!" whimpered Sophie, she reached out with a shaky hand and touched the sling._

" _Mama I'm alright" said Aramis softly, ducking his head a little so he could look his mother in the eye._

_Sophie nodded and hugged Aramis tighter, although being mindful of his shoulder. Aramis buried his head into his mother's shoulder until a pair of heavy footsteps stopped beside them. He peaked over his mother's shoulder and looked up at his father. Sophie stepped away and turned to embrace Porthos. Aramis stood up to his full height again and smiling softly he reached out his left hand to shake his father's hand._

_Ronald stifled back a sob as he ignored Aramis' outstretched hand and hugged his son. "You're back."_

" _Yes Papa, I'm back" confirmed Aramis, he felt his father relax and smiled knowing soon he would be helping his father, Uncle Jack and Porthos on the farm._

_Then Aramis saw Anne standing nearby, he felt his father step back from him so he took a few hesitant steps towards Anne. She broke out into a big smile and ran at him; she slowed just as she hugged Aramis tightly. He felt himself relax as she wrapped her arms around him; he leaned back and kissed her. It took a second until she was kissing him back, they broke apart and Anne gently rested a hand on his injured shoulder._

" _Are you alright?" Anne asked, her eyes fixed on the sling._

" _I'm alright" smiled Aramis,_

" _You got that crossing the Sambre Canal didn't you?"_

_Aramis blinked in shock, "How do you know?"_

_Anne smiled a little, "You were mentioned in the London Gazette and the local newspaper because you received the Military Medal, and it said you earned it crossing the Sambre Canal."_

_As the train began to pull out of the station with a cloud of steam Aramis was pulled back in time to the Sambre Canal. The shouting of men, the pinging of bullets, the shrieking of shells and the splashing of water._

" _Aramis?"_

_He blinked slowly and found Anne, his parents, Jack and Porthos staring at him. He smiled and then spotted Flea and Isabelle standing nearby, he was worried about Isabelle's feelings realising she would have seen him and Anne kissing. But Isabelle smiled at him and then her attention was drawn to another returning solider who she was soon embracing._

_Soon their small group was leaving the platform, Anne stayed clutching gently to his right side being careful of his sling and his mother had one of her arms around his left one. Once they had stepped out of the station he stopped suddenly at the sight of the village where he had grown up. His mother and Anne looked questionably up at him._

" _It's just nice to be home again" he explained, Sophie smiled and rubbed his arm comfortingly understanding that he was getting a little overwhelmed._

" _Do you want me to take your kit bag son?" asked Ronald,_

_Aramis shook his head; he leaned into Anne and then began the walk back to the farm._

* * *

It was about a month later that Aramis had proposed to Anne and she had accepted, they had gotten married in mid-July, something he had been worried about as the date of their wedding was very close to the three year anniversary of the massacre he had survived. Somehow he had been convinced to wear his uniform for the wedding, (thankfully his arm was no longer in a sling and he was relieved to have the use of both arms back) he hadn't wanted to, knowing the people of the village were using it as an excuse to look at his Military Medal ribbon.

To make it easier for him Porthos and Athos had each worn their own uniforms with their own medal ribbons. It had taken some of the attention away from him, as people wanted to look at the three ribbons Porthos and Athos had, especially as they didn't mind talking about them to people. Well Athos did mind, but knowing how Aramis was more uncomfortable talking about his medals he gladly talked to give Aramis a respite from the gawking villagers. But no matter how hard Athos and Porthos tried, people still came back to Aramis as instead of three ribbons he had four*. Anne had stuck close to him throughout the day and he drew strength from his new wife. His mother was also very helpful in noticing when he had had enough and she easily got rid of the people bothering her son.

Aramis rubbed his right shoulder, in the early morning cold his shoulder was a little painful. But he knew it would soon fade once the sun rose higher, but he knew the winter was going to play havoc with his healed injury.

He heard footsteps coming towards him and he smiled knowing they belonged to Anne. Sure enough she came to lean on the fence beside him. Seeing him rubbing his shoulder she began gently massaging his shoulder.

"Did your shoulder wake you?" Anne asked softly.

Aramis shook his head sighing staring out at the fields, "Nightmare."

"The storm last night?"

He nodded staring down at his feet. Anne took his hand in her own and gently began pulling him along the footpath into the mass of fields. She had discovered soon after his return from the war that going for walks helped calm his mind after a nightmare or flashback.

As they walked in silence his mind began to wander and he thought back on when after he had been convinced to wear his uniform for his wedding, old Mrs Edgar had said he would be able to show off his medal he had received for his bravery. Aramis had been filled with anger and he stormed home from the village and up to his room, ignoring the worried voices of his parents, Jack and Porthos. Once he reached his room he roughly opened a drawer and took out the box containing his Military Medal. He turned and stormed out of his room, out of the farmhouse and strode past his father, Jack and Porthos in the yard until he was almost running through the fields to where the River Thames cut through the countryside.

* * *

_**June 1919** _

_Aramis came to a sudden stop beside the River Thames; he was out of breath and bent forward with his hands resting on his knees. Still gripping the small medal box in his hand. He glared angrily at the box and stood straighter and raised his arm ready to throw the box into the flowing river. But a hand came out of nowhere stopping him from throwing away the medal. He turned and found Porthos staring at him, he tried to wrench his wrist out of Porthos' hand but Porthos wouldn't let him._

" _You don't want to do that Aramis" commented Porthos,_

" _Don't I?" snapped Aramis, "I_ _hate_ _having this medal and all the staring and gawking that comes with it!"_

" _I know you do" soothed Porthos, their arms still raised, "But you deserve it."_

" _No I don't! How do I deserve this more than any of those who didn't come home?" Aramis' throat hurt from the combined effort of raising his voice and trying to keep his tears back._

_Porthos looked sadly at him and lowered their arms, the medal box slipped from Aramis' grasp and Aramis made no move to pick it up again. So Porthos reached down and picked it up, he held it out to Aramis but Aramis refused to take it back; he didn't even look at it._

" _You_ _do_ _deserve it Aramis" countered Porthos firmly, "You were so brave that day."_

" _Brave?" scoffed Aramis, "There wasn't anything brave about what I did. I was_ _scared_ _."_

" _Everyone was scared" replied Porthos as he moved so he was standing in front of Aramis. "Bravery and courage is not the absence of fear._ _Real_ _bravery and courage, comes from acting in spite of it."_

_Aramis stared at him with wide eyes before he swallowed and shut his eyes tightly, but tears still began to slip silently down his face. "All I can think about is those who didn't come home. About how that German soldier spared my life while my friends were slaughtered in the woods with no mercy, how every time we went over the top and crossed the Canal how many fell and didn't get back up. Why did they all die and I survive? How did I make it through the war alive and gain a medal for bravery? When_ _ every _ _single man in the trenches deserved one!" choked Aramis, his shoulders beginning to shake._

_Porthos then hugged Aramis tightly knowing this was the first time since they returned to Britain he had cried and broke down the walls he had created to try and move on from the war. "Let it out. Let it all out" murmured Porthos as he rubbed a hand up and down Aramis' back. Aramis buried his face into Porthos' shoulder and wrapped his arms around Porthos._

_Porthos then fully took in how young they were. They were 22 now, but they had returned from war at the age of 21 and they had left at 18. They had thought they were all grown up, but the war caused it to fully hit home that really they were barely out of childhood. They all had some innocence about them, until it was ripped out in the trenches. They had left school at 14 and instantly a lot had been expected of them to act like adults and now they were expected to move on from the horrors of war as quickly as a snap of fingers. Men were looked down upon if they seemed to be heavily affected from the war with no physical injuries, but Porthos wondered how the older generation that sent them off to war would cope with the sights they had seen. No one back home understood. The men who had fought in the Boar War understood to a point, but they hadn't lived like animals in trenches and faced seeing what poisonous gas did to their friends._

_Aramis raised his head and wiped the last of his tears away, he felt embarrassed at his outburst but Porthos only held out his medal box. Still Aramis did not take it back, so Porthos took one of his hands and placed the box in it._

_Porthos looked Aramis directly in the eye, "When you look at this medal. Don't think of the men who didn't come back. Think of all the ones_ _you saved_ _that day."_

_Aramis paused for a moment and then nodded, holding the box closer to him. Porthos nodded and with an arm around Aramis' shoulders they began walking back to the farm. Aramis felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he felt as if he could breathe easier._

* * *

Aramis and Anne stopped and sat on a fallen tree and looked out at the endless fields in front of them. Aramis looked at Anne and took her warm hand in his cool one.

"I'm sorry" he murmured, "I can't be good company, always being startled and getting lost in memories."

Anne turned to look at him and with her free hand she ran her fingers through his hair, "Don't be sorry. Don't you _ever_ be sorry. It is not your fault; you have _nothing_ to be sorry for."

Aramis smiled softly, "Sometimes I feel like this is all a dream and soon I'm going to open my eyes and find myself back _there_."

"I wish I knew how to help you" confessed Anne,

Aramis squeezed her hand, "Just staying at my side and coming for walks help. You also have nothing to be sorry for."

Anne shook her head chuckling, Aramis grinned back at her and she felt the air rush out of her lungs. Since Aramis had returned his smiles hadn't reached his eyes (if they did it was only a handful of times) but his eyes were starting to get the light back in them. Right now the Aramis she had known and loved before the war was sitting in front of her. So she decided to share her news with him.

"Well in eight months there will be another reason keeping you up at night" said Anne smiling.

He paused in thought and he then widened his eyes, "You mean?" Anne nodded and Aramis stood up and whooped in excitement, he pulled her to her feet and twirled her around. She laughed; the 18 year old she had loved was defiantly coming back to her. Anne figured that after all the death and destruction Aramis had survived, he just needed to be shown that there was still life and beauty left in the world. He embraced her and kissed her passionately, when they broke apart he rested his forehead against hers.

"This is the second best thing I have ever heard" grinned Aramis,

"Only the second?" questioned Anne frowning slightly,

Aramis smiled at the look on her face, "You saying yes to marrying me was the best thing I have, and will ever, hear."

Anne laughed and then replied, "I will have to see if Porthos thinks the same."

Aramis rolled his eyes, "It's about time he proposed to Flea. He's been going on for years how Flea is the only girl for him. I have no idea why he waited so long to propose to her."

"Yes he did seem excited last night" grinned Anne,

"Do you really think so?" chuckled Aramis, "He was about one step away from shouting his love and excitement of getting married from the rooftop of the farmhouse. It took both Uncle Jack and Papa to pull Porthos back from the trellis. Mama gave him a right scolding for being so loud and trying to get on the rooftop."

Anne gently smacked his arm smiling, "You were no help just sitting there laughing at the whole thing."

Aramis shrugged, his eyes alight with laughter, "Well I couldn't begrudge him his excitement. And have no fear I did not do anything so foolish as try to climb the trellis of the farmhouse after you accepted my offer of marriage."

"I should hope so! You still had your right arm in a sling then!" exclaimed Anne; she then narrowed her eyes, "What did you do?"

Aramis laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, "Porthos and I went to the Tavern and got drunk. To be honest Mama loved that just about the same as she loved Porthos almost climbing up to the rooftop."

"I can imagine" drawled Anne. But she soon burst into laughter with Aramis, by now the sun had fully risen so Aramis rested one of her arms in the crook of his elbow and began leading the way back to the farmhouse. He knew he was very lucky having the family and friends that he did and he could not have asked for a better wife, who he was fortunate to be starting a family with.

The war for him was truly over.

**The end.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story is at an end and thank you to everyone who has read this.
> 
> While I won't be continuing this my head cannon for this story is that Aramis and Anne would have four children, three girls and a boy (the youngest of the four). Porthos and Flea would have a girl and a boy. Athos and Anne would be happily married, I don't know about their children that can be up to you.
> 
> * The medals I mentioned for each of them would be these:
> 
> Athos – The 1914 Star (established April 1917, also known as 'Pip' or the 'Mons Star'. Authorized by King George V for those who had served in France or Belgium between 5th August 1914 to midnight on 22nd November 1914. The recipients of this medal were responsible for assisting French troops to hold back the German Army, while new recruits could be trained and equipped.), The British War Medal, 1914-18 (established on 26th July 1919, also known as 'Squeak'. It was awarded to officers and men of the British and Imperial Forces who entered a theatre of war or entered service overseas between 5th August 1914 and 11th November 1918. This was later extended to services in Russia, Siberia and some other areas in 1919 and 1920.) And the Allied Victory Medal.
> 
> Porthos – The 1914-15 Star (established December 1918, also known as 'Pip'. It is very similar to the 1914 Star, but was issued to a wider range of recipients. It was awarded to those who served in any theatre of war against Germany between 5th August 1914 and 31st December 1915, except for those eligible for the 1914 Star.), The British War Medal, 1914-18 and the Allied Victory Medal.
> 
> Aramis – The 1914-15 Star, The British War Medal, the Allied Victory Medal and the Military Medal (Also called the MM, it is awarded for 'Acts of Gallantry and Devotion to Duty under fire'. It was awarded to personnel of the British Army and other services and also to the personnel of Commonwealth countries. It was established on 25th March 1916 (has been back dated/awarded to men for their acts of bravery in 1914) and was the other ranks (enlisted ranks) equivalent to the Military Cross (MC). It was introduced to make the Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM) retain its high level of precedence. So many men were earning the DCM that some people were almost seeing it as easy to earn; this is why in March 1916 the MM was introduced.)
> 
> The information about the medals I got was from Wikipedia (for the Military Medal) and greatwar.co.uk (for the British Campaign Medals.)


End file.
